Let it Be
by my-graceless-heart
Summary: A short one shot: Lily and James are talking in the stairwell, and Lily shares something rather personal about herself.


A/N: A short one-shot that I wrote. Inspired by the song "Let it Be", and the fact that when I can't sleep I listen to Coldplay's "Fix You" until I feel better. Eventually, this will probably fit into "Deer in the Headlights", but until then it's a simply plot bunny. Or a teaser. However you wish to see it.

All of the characters belong to the lovely J K Rowling.

"I listen to this song when I can't sleep," Lily said quietly.

James listened for the quiet strains of music floating out of one of the lower dormitories, but could only catch a few notes. "What song is it?"

"'Let it Be', by the Beatles," she replied, her voice slightly wistful. "Ever since it came out, I listen to it when my thoughts got too loud for my own head."

"Knowing you, that must be pretty often," his mouth quirked up a bit as he said it. Not quite a smirk, but certainly not a mischief-free smile.

She swatted his knee, her aim surprisingly good in the dim light. "Go chew on a Quaffle, Potter."

"Hey, hey!" he held his hands up innocently. "Everyone knows it. I just said it."

She sighed, relaxing against the wall. "I know. I'm sorry." The silence stretched between them, only broken by the small bits of music still floating up the stairwell. "I guess that's why I'm sitting here talking to you," she said, so quietly he almost couldn't hear it.

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

"I don't have to think around you," she stretched a bit, arching her shoulders. The light from the single remaining lit candle in the candelabra cast a few streaks of gold into her red hair, and to this day he could not remember her looking more beautiful, or more tired. She smiled wryly, the edges of her mouth quirking up in a way he had never seen before. "I think about everything. Whether my robes are straight, when my next class is, how I'm going to learn the next spell, what I'm going to say to Mary or Marlene next, _everything_. I try so hard to be perfect, because that's how everyone sees me. The perfect Lily Evans." She gave a short, painful laugh. "My own sister hates me. She can't even stand to be in the same room as me, and all because of this," she gestured about the narrow stairwell. "If I were perfect, then she wouldn't hate me."

Her words left off the question at the end. She wouldn't hate me… right? James didn't know what to say. What could he say? His family loved him. The house elves loved him. Hell. Even their neighbors loved him. The only person that didn't love him sat two steps above him, her hair shining red-gold in the candlelight and her freckles standing out on her pale face. "That isn't your fault, Evans," he said quietly. He almost said Lily. He _wanted_ to say Lily, but without her permission, that was simply a bad idea.

"Maybe not." She closed her eyes, almost as if she were resigning herself to something. "But Jill is."

"No," his voice came out fiercer than he intended it, and she looked up at him, startled. "That could never be your fault."

"I let them, Potter," her voice broke, but she kept looking at him. He saw her green eyes meet his own. "I stood by and _let_ them kill her. She was only twelve. If I had just done something, anything-"

"You would be dead too," he finished, his own voice firm. "Hogwarts would have had two funerals instead of one, and the whole world would be a damn sight bleaker without you in it." Suddenly, he realized what he had said, and snapped his mouth shut.

Unexpectedly, she smiled at him; the tired smile of someone who has heard the same thing so many times it's become a sort of well-worn glove. "You never give up, do you Potter?"

He shrugged, trying to make the gesture as flippant as possible. "It's part of my charm."

She shook her head, still smiling that tired smile. "I almost thought you were serious for a moment."

"I was." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "A lot of people would be sad if you were gone," he quickly added, before her expression even became fully surprised. "You're Head Girl. It would affect everyone."

"I suppose you're right," she said, and the stairwell lapsed back into that unreadable half-silence, the last few strains of the song floating up to tickle their ears.

"I've always been more of a 'Hey Jude' fan myself," he commented after a few moments of full silence.

To his surprise, she laughed. "You're incorrigible, Potter," she said. The laughter faded from her voice, but not her eyes. "'Hey Jude' does suit you. You always try to make things better. Even if they're in an unbearably stupid way." He blinked at her, surprised. The corner of her mouth quirked up at his expression. "Whenever the school is too sad or boring, you let off some great prank and make everybody laugh. Well," she amended, a small crease appearing in her forehead. "This year anyway. Before, you used to do it out of sheer stupidity." That wasn't _entirely_ true. He also did it to get her attention. "Now, though," she looked at him appraisingly. "They have a purpose. Maybe Dumbledore made the right choice in making you Head Boy."

He snorted. "Yeah, sure." He stood up, stretching. "Time for bed, I think. Night, Evans." He stepped around her, and was almost around the corner when her voice stopped him.

"Lily," she said, her voice quiet again.

He looked back at her. She looked very small sitting there on the stairs, her hair shining in the candlelight. "What?" he said carefully, not wanting to mishear her.

"You can call me Lily," her voice was a bit stronger. "I mean, since we're going to be working together and all, we might as well be on friendly terms. Not just chatting-in-the-dorm-stairwell friendly, either. I mean," she shifted almost self-consciously. "Like mates kind of friendly."

He stared down at her, then let himself smile a bit. Just a bit. He didn't want to seem like his insides were dancing a jig. "Yeah, all right." He let the smile grow the slightest breath larger. "Then you call me James."

"All right," she smiled shyly, an expression he never thought he would see on her face. "Good night, James."

"Good night Lily," he turned and walked up to the seventh-year boys' dormitory, feeling for the first time since he met her that perhaps James Potter was not a bad bloke to be after all.

Reviews are unexpected cake on a rainy afternoon.


End file.
